


Scary, How Much I Want You Around

by elvisqueso



Series: Lesbiyans AU [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Bad Decisions, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/F, Fluff, Harold they're lesbians...., Mutual Pining, Pregnancy, Saiyan Culture, Trans Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 12:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvisqueso/pseuds/elvisqueso
Summary: Sometimes she’d look at the sky— in a direction she thought might be towards Earth— and think that Vegeta was looking back her way, too.  And maybe their eyes would meet somewhere in the expanse of space in-between.Lesbiyans AU: fem!Goku/fem!Vegeta





	Scary, How Much I Want You Around

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all are cowards. There. I said it. Not one goddamned fully dedicated femslash fic for Goku/Vegeta any-damned-where on this site and it's a Disgrace.
> 
> In all seriousness, though: I wanted to flesh out my dumb Lesbiyans AU and the disconnected drabbles turned into a full out 4 chapter plan for a fic. This is highly self-indulgent and full of my own dumb canon so please enjoy.
> 
> Un-beta'd, and updates are, uh, whenever I have them ready.

Everyone was shocked when Goku showed up at Kame House with a kid in her lap.  At first, they’d thought she might've found him up in the hills like she had been found, and taken him home like that was the natural way children came into the world.  Then they saw the tail.  “His name's Gohan,” she said, and when they looked at him, they found the boy was very near a spitting image of a small Goku.  She was beaming as the tyke fisted his little hands into her pants, tail swishing behind him like hers used to.

“Um, Goku?”  Krillin felt he had to be the one to ask, “When did you-?  That is- is the father in the picture?”

Goku did that thing where she tilts her head to one side like she was trying to see the words themselves from a different angle to puzzle out their meaning.  “Gohan don't have a father.  Jus' me.  Well, an' Chi-Chi sometimes.  She said he oughta learn proper schooling and she wants to teach him when's old ‘nuff.”

“How old are you, Gohan?”  Bulma asked and the kid raised a little hand with four fingers up, smiling shyly.

“Chi-Chi says I ought notta try trainin' him yet, but sometimes we play some nice games that are kinda like trainin'.  He's real smart.  Already way smarter'n I was at his age.”

Gohan finally piped up, and his voice was as soft and as small as himself, but very clear and careful.  “Aunt Chi told me about scholars and I want to be one when I grow up.”

How Goku made this was anyone's guess.  Roshi decided to ask and got a wallop upside the head by Bulma for it.  Launch just laughed.

“It was easy.”  And if that didn’t beat out all others for a kind of response.

* * *

 

“Krillin, wait!”

He couldn’t believe it.  He damn well couldn’t believe it but he halted that blade not more than an inch from the Saiyan’s eye.  His whole body was screaming at him to drop; just drop a little and hell if he takes the bitch with him at least he could be on the ground.  The Saiyan was probably just as shocked, one working eye wild and red and her fingers clutching the open frame of her space pod.  Goku’s weak chuckling behind them both.

“Goku, we _have_ to—”

“No!  Please, listen t'me.  I know it’s— I know it’s selfish o’ me, but I want you t' let her go—,”

“Goku—”

“It’s so crazy, I can’t really explain it but while I was fightin' her I was more alive inside than ever I thought I could be.  And when I thought I’d killed her— I know it’s crazy.  I thought: ‘what a waste.’  I wanted to fight her again.  I wanted it so badly in that moment.  Please, Krillin.  If you’re my friend, let me have this.  Let her go.”

Krillin was almost crying, and that Saiyan was staring up at him, her eye stuck to the blade still in swinging distance.  Her face twisted up a deep snarl.  “You’re all crazy,” she growled, “what kind of Saiyan are you, Kakarot?  Even the _earthling_ has sense enough to kill me.”

“Maybe that’s just it.  I’m a Saiyan.  Y’said ours was a warrior race, right?”

Vegeta spat, maybe in equal parts shock and derision. “That’s right.  We’re warriors.  Killers.  And you’re going to regret letting me live, Kakarot.  I’ll be back, you third-class nobody!”  And with that she hauled herself into the pod and let it blast off, with the last image of her face, grinning madly with a hollow sense of triumph, sticking to Krillin’s mind.  Behind him, Goku only laughed, as much as she could laugh, and tracked the pod with her eyes well after it had left the stratosphere.

“She’d better.”

* * *

 

She wasn’t ready for it— the blast that sent white heat through her chest.  At first, all Vegeta could feel was that inferno going through and the suffocation of Freiza’s Ki bearing down on them, and then there was the slam of the ground on her back, the distant sound of Kakarot’s voice shouting her name.  And she knew this was it for them, for their people.  Kakarot would be that last, and her diluted blood through that half-breed brat.  And they would be gone forever: a grubby little footnote in the history of the Universe, ground out in the end by a damned white lizard.

The pain of loss stung more than the hole in her chest, just then.  She had never felt the weight of her station before then, and the understanding of her failure to protect, to lead, would finish her just as surely as her wound.  She needed Kakarot to understand, right then, just what she carried for them now.  She could only choke out that plea and weep for them all before her vision tunneled out and she drifted and drifted and drifted away— carrying off with her the desperate look on Kakarot’s face.

 

Goku rarely felt the true shock of anger in her blood.  It had only happened once or twice before— when Krillin died, she’d tried to tear through all of King Piccolo’s henchmen like a demon in her rage, blind and foolish.  She felt it again now, seeing Vegeta’s death.  When the Saiyan Princess had first come to Earth, Goku had denied being a Saiyan at all.  No, she’d insisted, she was now an Earthling and would hold no loyalty to a dead race who had only shot her off into space for being too weak anyway.  It never mattered to Goku what came before the Now, nor what would come after.  Now, there was the look on Vegeta’s face, tears still wet and mingling with her blood as she lay dead on the ground.  And the sound of Freiza laughing.

She buried Vegeta there, rage pooling up cold and deep within her.  She would defeat Freiza, she promised.  She would do it for Vegeta.  For the people Vegeta felt so strongly about.  The last of them would avenge them, because Vegeta had asked.

 

Gohan saw his mother’s face right before it happened: just at the moment Krillin was blown into a million pieces he’d looked at her face, and he saw something there he’d never seen before.  Maybe he’d glimpsed it only a little when Vegeta had been killed (he didn’t understand much of why his mother had been so reverent to that corpse.  He wasn’t sure what he felt about Vegeta himself).  Now that something was exploding outward and upwards and the sky was roiling and cracking and there she was: his mother, ablaze in gold and a fury so calm it terrified him.  “Get to the ship,” she told him, and so he did.

 

When the Namekians were revived so was Vegeta.  She’d gasped out, crawling up from the soil with her lungs burning.

She looked to the horizon, where the Namekians’ dragon stood, and the great and terrible clash of powers was happening.  She knew, instinctively, that Kakarot had done it— she was the legend come true.  A pride of the race.  Now, seeing Kakarot sheathed in flame, she felt that power stirring excitement in her chest and making her head buzz.

And so was the beauty of Kakarot’s rage that she carried with her as she blinked back to Earth with the Earthlings’ wish.

* * *

 

Kakarot was alive and she wasn’t coming home.

All the Earthlings were freaking the hell out about it but Vegeta was only annoyed.  Some part of her understood the need, she would train and master the transformation and come home to her son and friends.  The brat was as quick to understanding as she was, looking after his Aunt and telling her not to worry.  Bulma had been letting Vegeta live in her compound and would probably still let her.

All at once she felt a burning need to find Kakarot, to see what she was doing, learn what she had learned.  Witness the process she was taking to own that legend the way she must.  The feeling gnawed at her worse than anything she’d ever felt and so she commandeered the ship Bulma’s father had made with the gravity deck and as much food as she could steal from the pantry and set off to scour every quadrant she could between Earth and Namek before she ran out of resources to find the one other living Saiyan besides herself.

The instinct in her was strong— find, fight, learn.  It was a cycle as old as their race.  It was, the oldest Saiyans would say, the true meaning to being a Saiyan.  They find strength, fight with strength, and learn through strength.  Find, fight, learn.  Find and fight, fight and learn, learn and find again.  The obsession crept into her bones and lit her afire at odd hours and she would have to train vigorously until the fire went away and she was inert on the floor of the ship.

 

She never found Kakarot.  The ship had barely six months of fuel and even that burned quicker than it should what with all the mechanical problems that piled up as Vegeta continued to abuse the tin can.  She’d crash landed at Bulma’s and was immediately made a boarder, whether she wanted to be or not.  The woman was bizarrely determined to become her “friend” and that raked at Vegeta in an odd way.  She had no desire to foster anything with anyone on this damned planet, least of all a flighty scientist.

* * *

 

The boy who stood in front of her was a Super Saiyan.  He had just killed Freiza in less than two minutes and was now telling Goku about two terrible androids set to wipe out her friends in three years’ time.  The boy was well made, shy, yet fierce, and with a broad, strong brow.  She could see where Vegeta’s genes had made it through: the eyes may have been a different color, but the shape and shine were the same.

Somehow, the idea that Vegeta will have a son in about two and a half years didn’t jar her as much as the knowledge that the boy will also be Bulma’s.

“ _Bulma_!?”  It shook her, and something she didn’t recognize in her stomach dropped.

“Y-yes,” the boy said, and his face went beet red as he explained, “you know how my mom is.  Um, she always told me she’d been fed up with Yamcha and…well Vegeta was just _there_ looking all lonely…”

Bulma had always said having those parts never made her less of a woman, and she never felt off about keeping them.  Goku never paid any mind about the man who helped her make Gohan, and she never thought the “who” had really mattered.  But knowing it was Bulma who made— or will make — this boy with Vegeta rankled her in a strange way.  It was different, she figured, because they’re known.  Because it might mean something if they know each other.

On Yadrat, as she grappled and fought with the new power flowing through every nerve ending, every pore, she’d thought about Vegeta.  She’d wondered if the Princess would try and seek her out, if she would find her.  She’d think, at times, that Vegeta might have been doing the same thing she was doing: eating, washing up, looking at the stars.  Sometimes she’d look at the sky— in a direction she thought might be towards Earth— and think that Vegeta was looking back her way, too.  And maybe their eyes would meet somewhere in the expanse of space in-between.  She’d wondered if Vegeta ever tried to speak with her son, her Gohan.  If Gohan was going to try and speak with Vegeta.  The thought of Vegeta as a permanent fixture in her life slipped easily into her imagination, like she had already been there for years and years.

But, Vegeta was having a baby with Bulma.  And somehow that took Vegeta away.

* * *

 

Kakarot was avoiding her.  Like a leper, she was stuck haunting the halls of Capsule Corp. scattering nervous employees and guests before her as she went.  She was used to this; distain was half the air she’d breathed in Freiza’s army and the reception of the Earthlings’ was more than expected.  But the rejection by Kakarot of all people scraped at her insides worse than anything she could recall.  Her skin itched with the need to seek her out.  She whipped herself into a frenzy in the new gravity room, obsessing over each and every detail of each and every fight they’d shared or that either of them had borne witness to.  By all rights, Kakarot was bound to Vegeta in arms; to avoid her now was a disownment of that bond.  She’d been denied battle with Kakarot ever since Namek, and the creeping fear that it was some inadequacy she had, some new inferiority found with the ascension of another of her kind was the core reason for this sudden shunning drove her crazy.  She screamed and bashed her way around the room.   The gravity was at 450G, the highest she’d made it so far, and the pressure on her limbs was suffocating.  She could barely expand her lungs to breathe.

With a howl her Ki exploded around her, shooting through the thick metal walls and short-circuiting the machinery.  All at once the pressure from the gravity released and Vegeta had one moment of clear weightlessness before the structure came down on top of her, burying her in the rubble.

If the failure to ascend was the reason for her rejection, she thought as the world faded in and out, then she would rectify it.  Such an insult she could never let stand.

* * *

 

It wasn’t in her plan at all.  Bulma was a planner; some might call her a schemer.  But this new thing was sudden and impulsive and far outside the realm of anything she’d ever imagined herself doing.

It was rebound sex.  She knew that.  And, in some way, she thought, Vegeta might have been rebounding as well.  Women weren’t her preference, but with Vegeta’s butch tactlessness and assertive bed-manner, the whole thing was an exception Bulma found didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might.  She wasn’t someone who liked to be _in_ people, in general.  Well, shit happens.

Shit happens a couple of times, and that’s it.  She gets over Yamcha and the loss of a first love.  Vegeta seems to clear her head of…whatever it was that put her in the same place as Bulma for a while.  The fling was over in a flash, but somehow there was nothing abashed or shameful in the aftermath.  Maybe a new understanding, a friendship of a kind.  An ‘I see you’ kind of thing that granted better insight to a person few others cared to look at.  It was strangely comfortable.

And then Vegeta informed her she was pregnant.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to either of them that there was a risk – hormones took a toll on a girl’s sperm count, and Vegeta just seemed not to care at all.  The first thing Bulma could find words to ask was: “are you okay with this?”

Vegeta just gave her an odd look and said: “I believe so.”

Saiyans, it turned out, experience a substantial power boost while pregnant.  Apparently, it’s to protect the unborn child, but also to help the body handle the pregnancy itself.  Bulma couldn’t stop doing tests, and Vegeta’s rancor from being interrupted during a training regime that failed to let up despite her condition – because of this new boost, supposedly – did little to deter her.  She was a scientist, after all, and her objective was to _know_.

She wanted to call Goku and ask about her pregnancy with Gohan, but there was little chance she’d offer any useful information.  And if she did, she’d be terrible at explaining it in a way that Bulma could use.  For now, she relied on what Vegeta remembered of pregnancies on her home world, and those were all from her own childhood.

“Infants were usually placed in incubators,” she explained, “they could be left to mature in there for the first few years.  Better to have them ready to fight from their first day out than to deal with them before then.”

Notwithstanding the absolutely _bonkers_ way Saiyans raised their young, she found other useful things: like the kinds of hormones pumping through Vegeta’s system that were responsible for boosting her strength.  Also interesting was the chemicals in her blood that seemed responsible for her fertility.  Saiyans, it seemed, had an acute biological clock that almost compelled them to ‘find a mate,’ as it were.  Bulma figured she could catalogue the environmental triggers at work as well if she had more information.  She strongly suspected, based on what she now knew of Vegeta, it had something to do with falling behind Goku in strength.

And, she supposed, it explained the existence of Gohan a little better than Goku’s initial story.  At least, in a scientific sense.  It was all so _fascinating_.

Of course, she was also starting to get giddy about the baby herself.  After all, they were her kid, too.

* * *

 

Sometimes, when the sunset was a particular shade of red, Goku would go out to the mesas and sit as high as she could sit and look at the colors.  They reminded her of some place, although she wasn’t sure what place that was, or when she’d been there.  Hell almost resembled it, but had none of that real natural warmth.  Everything in the Otherworld was a replica, only imitating the things in the living world.  Close enough to be nostalgic of those things, but not close enough to replace them.

She looked at such a sunset now, an old and familiar burn under her skin.  It was the same burn that led her to make Gohan, she knew.  And somehow, she knew it was happening because of Vegeta.

The wind had picked up, warm from the dying sunlight and thick against her skin.  She thought of black eyes and a power so blinding it nearly consumed her when she first saw it.  The night was going to be cold in the desert, and so Goku went and hunted for shelter and a challenge.

* * *

 

Vegeta went into labor at an ungodly hour, and had woken Bulma with no more than a “he’s ready to come out now.”

Bulma was a mess, of course.  She’d never had a kid before, and she wasn’t the one carrying, so she felt oddly out of control of the situation.  Vegeta seemed mostly just pained.

 

The baby was born, a healthy boy with a fluffy lavender tail.  Bulma got to hold him first and damn if she didn’t just fall right in love right there.  Vegeta was sitting up already, frustrated at having to be bedridden at all.

“About damn time,” she griped, pointedly ignoring her baby and his other mother.  Bulma pursed her lips and strode over, ready to plop him right on Vegeta’s lap.  She shot Bulma a panicked expression as she scrambled to get her arms under him.

“No, wait—” and before she could get another protest in, Bulma had gotten the baby snug into Vegeta’s arms, a smug look on her face.  But when she saw the absolutely lost look on Vegeta’s, that smirk slipped and she could only watch as Vegeta stared into their son’s eyes, her face full of anxiety.

“Why did you hand him to me?”  She choked on the words but they made their way.  Against her will, the mothering hormones took hold and bound her to her son.  “I can’t be this.  I don’t want this…not this part of it…”

It was too late.  She loved her son.

 

Trunks’s tail was removed following a scare with the full-moon, much to Vegeta’s ire.  Of course, she’d found no fault with Trunks’s little rampage.  It was Bulma’s fault for leaving the curtains open, as she was the one most often putting him to bed at night, and Vegeta never bothered with such things when she came in to feed him.

Vegeta also never spoke to him as if he were a baby.  Her tone was always casual and grown, as if she fully expected a comprehensive response from the boy.  When she was met with his baby-ish garbling, she only nodded in acknowledgment, perhaps a hum, or a grunt, and continued on.

It was cute, in its way.  Bulma doted on him more than Vegeta liked, she knew, but she didn’t care.  Her son would want for nothing in the world, and she was proud to have had a hand in creating such a beautiful and wonderous thing.  She’d show him off to the neighbors, to strangers at the grocery, and to anyone else who happened to land in her path.  Vegeta was less willing to share her baby with anyone who wasn’t Bulma or Bulma’s parents, and the only time Yamcha had stopped by and tried to hold the baby, Vegeta had shot out of God-knows-where and snatched Trunks out of his grasp quicker than a blink, insisting that it was time to feed him and nearly kicking the poor guy out the door by his rear-end.

* * *

 

Goku wondered why she wasn’t sick yet.  The anxiety of knowing she had a life-threatening illness coming was pretty terrible.  Gohan informed her he’d be keeping a close eye on her health, bless him.  The determination on his little face filled her with such a warm feeling, and she just smushed him to her and told him she felt real lucky to have such a good son.

Of course, being pregnant again was pretty lucky, too.  Gohan seemed to look a way about it, half-way confused and half-way concerned.  And maybe it was, in part, him wondering where this new baby was coming from.  Goku just told him: “from the same place you did: me!”  And her beaming smile told him enough to know he ought to leave the subject be, for at least until after the androids.

“You’re gonna be a big brother, Gohan,” Goku just said, “I know you’ll be great!”

Late one afternoon, while Chi-Chi was visiting to hand off some lesson materials for Gohan, she and Goku had one of their “serious girl-talks.”  Chi-Chi had a good handle on how Goku was, and she had been there for things none of her other friends had been around for.  She’d been her midwife, her mentor as much as her friend.  A young wise-woman who knew how to roll with life’s punches better than most.

“What brought the feelin’ on. Goku?”  Chi-Chi asked, her gaze level and kind while she steeped some ginger tea for the two of them – she knew how good it was for Goku when she was pregnant.

“Was lookin’ at the sunset, and it was like I knew something was a-gonna happen.”

“Heard tell there’s a baby ‘round Capsule Corp. these days.  A blue-eyed lil’ boy.”

Goku swallowed a mouthful of tea.  She tells Chi-Chi everything.  She could tell her about this.

“He’s Vegeta’s.  And Bulma’s.”

“Oh?”

“I knew he was comin’.  He’s same as the boy from the future what came back to warn us.”

“Did you know somethin’ bout the babe that day?”  _The day you went and found a man to give you a child?_

“I knew he was a-comin’.  I don’t know how I knew, I jes’ did.”

“Oh, Goku…”

“It’s alright.  They’re pretty cute together, right?”  The smile on Goku’s face was so sad.

Somehow, Chi-Chi didn’t think it was all quite the way Goku saw it to be.  But she kept her mouth shut there, and just let the topic drift away on the steam from their tea to be forgotten until another day.  There will be time enough after.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** please don't get yourself pregnant for stupid reasons like "it sure sounded like a good idea at the time" and "I need Kakarot to Notice Me!" This is not a healthy coping mechanism, hehheh....
> 
> [Chapter soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Mel8jtB1Ck)


End file.
